Bleeding Pen-Ii

The poet wished to cry out loud And vent the slithering pain Yet void in his sinking heart Won't let him flee this blain. The pen then oozed in torrid red To scribe 'bout the hovering gloom Yet mind feared to find the words Which would write the poet's doom. If the poet broke his promise No flower would ever bloom So pen hid the poet's torment Within a heap of silken plumes. Prashant Shaurya © All Rights Reserved